


Reconstruction

by Fier



Series: In a Flash [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Case Fic, Disability, Disfigurement, Explosions, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV Dana Scully, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fier/pseuds/Fier
Summary: I wasn't at Mulder's bedside when he awoke, and he wasn't at mine.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: In a Flash [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897696
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Reconstruction  
> AUTHOR: TCS1121  
> EMAIL: TCS1121@hotmail.com  
> URL: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/xfilesfanfic/  
> RATING: R  
> CLASSIFICATION: Angst  
> KEYWORDS: MSR, AU, Scully POV  
> DISCLAIMER: FOX and 1013 own all the X-Files characters.  
> I'm just borrowing them. No money changes hands.  
> ARCHIVE: As You Wish
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the "In a Flash" series told by Scully. The previous stories were told exclusively by Mulder. This is how Scully lived the incidents. You need not have read them to understand this one. 
> 
> For RachelVagts--because she wanted to know.
> 
> Special thanks to Laura Savadow, my favorite first reader. Special thanks also to JD. Still JD made a thorough and thoughtful beta from a POV uniquely hers. Thanks JD.
> 
> * * *
> 
> And to my friend, mentor, and beta, Michelle Kiefer. This story would not have been written without Michelle's encouragement, patience, and love. I cannot thank you enough, MiiMii. For everything.

I wasn't at Mulder's bedside when he awoke, and he wasn't at mine.

Up until the explosion, our lives were fairly under control. Actually, our lives were too much under control. Our previous work on the X-Files made us immune to all but the most interesting things.

Mutants and paranormal experiences had become commonplace to us, like open-heart surgery is to a cardiac surgeon. To the patient, whose future is uncertain, it's terrifying, but to the doctor, it's just another day at the office.

Sitting in the bullpen, I longed for our bygone alien hunting days, although I would never have admitted it to Mulder. Background checks and fertilizer detail were well beneath my abilities as an investigator and physician, and an outright insult to my Oxford educated partner. Watching him stare at the computer screen, and dial the numbers to make inane phone calls, was painful. And such a waste of his beautiful mind.

Our new assignment was to check up on farmers, making sure they were using manure to grow crops, and not to blow up buildings. Deputy Director Kersh thought that by assigning that duty to us, our spirits would break, and we would go away. But Mulder and I thought that if we just could just hang in there long enough, we'd eventually get into someone's good graces. We convinced one another that someday the basement office would have his name on it again.

The excitement for the job returned when we found a fertilizer stash large enough to become a weapon of mass destruction. Mulder doesn't waste time solving a case, if it means saving lives. So we moved in fast, because we had it on good authority that a bomb-a huge bomb-was hidden in a canyon in southern Arizona

Maybe if we hadn't been so bored in the bullpen, and maybe if we hadn't become rusty by sitting around all day, we would have been more careful. We might have found out beforehand that Krycek was that trusted "good authority."

He set us up. I guess Krycek just got tired of us chasing after him, so he made it extremely easy to trip the device. It was such an impersonal method of execution, that I can't believe it was any fun for him. Maybe he watched us blow up through high-powered binoculars. I don't know, I haven't gotten the chance to ask him.

Fortunately we had the foresight to inform the local Bureau office where we were going. It wasn't really necessary, since the force of the explosion registered around 2.0 on the Richter scale, and investigators would have been sent to the blast site anyway. However, they did know beforehand where to come find us, and peel our bleeding bodies from the rocks.

I wasn't at Mulder's bedside when he awoke, and he wasn't at mine.

* * *

My face and hands were swathed in gauze, and my eyes were swollen shut. While my hands and arms hurt, my face was mercifully numb. A hand was stroking my hair, but I knew from somewhere outside myself, that it wasn't Mulder's.

Walter Skinner sat next to my bed, trying to comfort me as the drugs dulled my senses. I tried mouthing the word, "Mulder" to him, but what was left of my lips didn't seem to work.

"Shh, Scully. Don't try to talk." I remembered him saying. I dutifully obeyed and slipped away.

Tornadoes and explosions have some things in common. They are both destructive forces of great power. A tornado can raze a building to its foundation; yet place a baby safely in a treetop several blocks away. An explosion can rip a path of destruction; yet place a piece of straw squarely into the trunk of a tree, with barely a split end.

The force of the flying debris should have torn my hands to ribbons. But instead of rendering my hands into useless stumps, they were merely gashed and burned.

However, around my hands and arms, the projectiles had their way with the rest of my exposed flesh. At first I worried about ever being able to hold a scalpel. Later, I worried about ever being able to look in a mirror.

* * *

My eyes were less swollen when I woke next. Skinner kept vigil by my side, looking haggard and hauntingly sad. I was more successful this time when whispering, "Mulder?"

"Yes, Scully. Mulder's here, just a few floors down." His hand stroked my hair again. "He-he didn't catch as much of the blast as you did."

I'd never known Skinner to be a demonstrative man, and this is the second time, in as many days, that his hand was patting my hair. I waited a few moments for more of an explanation, and got very nervous when none came. Finally, I rasped, "Then, why isn't he here?" "Oh, Scully..." Walter Skinner began to shrink before my eyes.

"Dana, he can't..."

I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me, but I didn't like the sound of that 'Dana.' I was hurting and groggy from the medication, so I tried again. My lips and cheeks had trouble forming the words, but I hoped he'd understand me.

"Tell me what happened." God, it hurt to talk. "Why isn't Mulder here?"

"Scully, Mulder can't come up right now, and he asked me to talk to you first. He thought it might be easier."

"What might be easier?" I paused to breathe and think. "Is he alright?"

"No, he's not."

Three words. I didn't want to hear any more. I wanted to go back to sleep, wake up, and ask again later. But I knew I couldn't.

"Tell me." My lips cracked as I spoke.

"Mulder wasn't caught in the path of the blast like you were, but he looked up into it as it detonated." Skinner took a deep breath and brought his pale face close to my swollen one and said, "The flash blinded him, Scully."

There are times when you hear a jumble of sounds, and your brain takes a few moments to process their meaning, so I replayed the sounds Skinner made to see if I'd misinterpreted them.

"Wh-what?"

Even though I could only open my eyes halfway, I saw Walter Skinner, ex-Marine, shift uncomfortably, and raise a hand to his forehead.

"Dana, he's blind. He'll never see again."

* * *

I didn't know how to feel, once I believed what Skinner told me. I made him repeat Mulder's diagnosis several times to make sure the story didn't change, until I was finally convinced that it was true. My partner was totally blind.

I tried to think of how many times I had said to strangers, with all heartfelt sympathy, "I'm sorry for your loss," but what do you say when meeting your blind partner for the first time? Do you say: "How are you doing?" "Are you hungry?" "I'm sorry for your loss?"

Skinner came into my room and quietly sat next to my bed. He held my bandaged hand and said, "You're going to have to see him sometime, you know. He's beginning to doubt that you're doing as well as I say. Despite what's happened, you are his main concern."

"I'm his main concern because it distracts him."

"You have to go see him."

"I know."

I began to cry. Hot, salty tears soaked the gauze, and wet the stitches. The pain was sharp and stinging, but it gave me courage. I looked at Skinner and said, "Get me a mirror."

"Scully, I don't think now is a good time for this..."

"Get me a mirror, please." My speech was barely legible.

Skinner went over to the hospital dresser and shuffled through the items in the drawers, until he found a hand mirror. He held it down by his side and said, "Scully, I've spoken to the plastic surgeons here. They can do some reconstructive surgery before you leave, but they suggested that you consult with an expert in DC to complete the procedure."

"Show me. I can't hold the mirror."

Skinner looked away, then looked back, and I felt a twinge of pity for him. First having to break the news to me about Mulder, then granting my request for the mirror. He took a breath, and then sat next to me on the bed, as he would have to aim it just right so that I could see my full reflection.

I stared at myself for several minutes, turning my head one way then the other. I recognized my eyes, but where was Dana Scully?

"Scully?"

"Can you take me down to his room?" I said this knowing that I hadn't been out of the bed since we were brought in. But I wanted to go into his room, and not the other way around. Maybe I could handle it better that way.

"I'll get you a wheelchair."

* * *

The curtains were closed and Mulder's room was dim. He was propped up in a semi reclined position, and I knew by the steady rise and fall of his chest that he was asleep. The eyes were bandaged, and his face was scratched and bruised, but his hands, lying lightly across his chest, were unmarked.

Skinner pushed my wheelchair to the head of the bed, nodded once, and left.

I couldn't touch Mulder's hand with my gauze wrapped ones, so I whispered, "Mulder?"

He stirred, took a deep breath, and then carefully tipped his chin to his chest. He cocked his head to the right, in a gesture that would later become familiar, and turned towards me.

"Scully?"

"I'm here."

"Thank God-thank God"

I brought my lips close so that he could feel my breath on his neck and said, "Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry."

"Scully, don't..." I didn't see his hand until it touched my lips. I pulled back with a gasp.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, quickly.

"No. It's just-I don't want you to see me like this-I -I mean..."

"I know what you mean." He turned away from me and said, "Okay, I promise I won't look."

* * *

There were so many emotions warring for dominance, that I never knew which one was winning. The hospitalization was lengthy, but uneventful. My hands were healing well, and the nerves and muscles of my face were working normally. The damage appeared to be wholly cosmetic, and I could tend to that later.

Mulder had finally been discharged to his home. He was familiar with his apartment, and had been taught the basic skills for living in the dark. I went into "protective mode," as that was today's winning emotion, so when we walked together, I puffed my chest and prepared to do battle with anyone who gave him a sidelong glance. I told myself that I was protecting my partner; something I'd done for so many years.

"Scully, take my hand."

"Why, Mulder? The way we're supposed to walk is with hand on elbow."

"Since when have we ever done things by the book? Let's see if we can work it this way." He held out his left hand.

I let go of his elbow and stepped beside him to take his hand. Our clasped hands dropped between us, and we walked down the hall to his apartment. It must have felt right, because we've walked like that ever since.

We entered his dark apartment, and reality hit me when he didn't go to turn on the lights. I realized that he would never need to turn on a lamp, a flashlight, or light a candle during a hurricane, except as a courtesy to his sighted friends. I flipped the light switch, and watched him stumble, trying not to guide him with my voice or hands. Soon, he got his bearings, and his motions became assured and fluid. He smiled, turned toward me and said, "Don't be surprised, Scully. I've been unconscious, and still managed to maneuver around in here."

I smiled at him, but he didn't know it.

Then Mulder pulled off his sunglasses, and put them next to the computer. I watched in sad fascination as his eyes roamed without fixing on anything. He left his glasses off while we finished unpacking. I helped reposition some things so they were easier for him to find, but I knew it was time to leave. Mulder thought so too because he said, "Scully, thanks for helping me get settled, but I'd really like to be alone tonight. I have some shopping to do tomorrow, will you come back and help me with that?"

"Of course I will."

Mulder reached towards his computer and picked up the sunglasses. He put them on and whispered, "Hey Scully? I showed you mine, how about showing me yours."

It was only fair. His truth was revealed in his eyes; my truth was branded into my skin. I walked over to his black leather couch and sat. There's no mistaking the sound of a person's weight sinking into leather, so he knew right where I was. A few moments later, he angled himself by the coffee table and sat next to me.

"Let me know if I hurt you, okay?" he said gently.

"You won't hurt me."

He reached out his hands, and I gave him mine. My hands were scabbed and stiff, but his touch was soft and careful. He turned them over, and brushed both my palms with his thumbs. I watched in surprise, as he raised my hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into each one.

With his eyes downcast behind the dark lenses, he traced his fingers up my arms until they reached my neck, and then my chin. I flinched, but he held onto me. Lightly, his hands began exploring my face. His fingers lingered on the dissolving stitches around my lips and cheeks. He gently probed the scabbing scars around my eyes, and the tips of his fingers lingered on my misshapen nose.

After a moment or two, he seemed satisfied.

"You look the same, Scully. You always will."

He said he needed to be alone, so I left. But I wish he had asked me to stay.

* * *

My bruises were gone, the stitches were out, and all that was left of my face were the scars. The pale skin became a backdrop to the garish keloids and shiny adhesions. The ptosis had increased slightly, so my left eye had to fight even harder to catch up with my right one when I blinked. Mulder's appearance hadn't changed much. He had a small amount of scarring around his eyes, but this just made him look more vulnerable and more appealing. The scarring I received disfigured me, and changed the way the world looked at me. It was a shock when I found out that ugly women were also stupid.

That fact was evident soon after the gauze was removed. People started raising the pitch of their voices, and using simple words when speaking to me; they seldom asked me questions. Very few people actually focused on my eyes, looking instead at the wall behind my head. And I got a lot of empty smiles, which would have hurt my feelings, except that I liked the empty smiles better than the sad, sympathetic ones.

I grieved for the loss of Mulder's sight, but I also guiltily grieved for my own loss. Compared to his, mine was trivial, but I was still devastated when I realized that I recognized myself in the mirror.

* * *

Walter Skinner was a compassionate man with a long memory. He was also a whip smart strategist with high friends who owed him favors. A.D. Skinner knew that I wasn't stupid, and neither was my visually challenged partner.

A few weeks after he was discharged, both Mulder and I received irate phone calls from the Assistant Director. Mr. Skinner was wondering why we hadn't shown up for work.

"We're a Federal agency and I don't want the ADA people breathing down my neck. Get your asses down here, and tell me what accommodations you need."

It was that statement that allowed Mulder to continue a favorite pass time. He could set the wastebasket at the exact distance needed to successfully play hoops with crumpled up paper.

The next day, I picked Mulder up at his apartment, and he, Mr. Pointy, his white walking cane, and I went to meet with Skinner.

Being back in the Hoover building was tense, but the few agents we encountered that day were genuinely solicitous. Skinner must have thoroughly briefed everyone.

Mulder maneuvered through the building pretty well for his first time back, and soon, we were sitting in our regular seats in the Assistant Director's office. Skinner's Old Spice was letting Mulder know that he was in the room with us.

"Glad to have you back, agents. Let me get straight to the point. I've arranged for you to occupy the office in the basement of this building. The previous tenants have been reassigned."

"Reassigned?" Mulder asked.

"They didn't quite fit the program, Agent Mulder. I've taken over, and created a new division I'd like you and Agent Scully to head. The emphasis of your unit would be on investigating unusual and unsolved crimes. You will be consultants, and your talents will be doled out as I see appropriate. If the Behavioral Science Unit needs your input, you're working with the BSU. If Violent Crimes needs a profiler, then you'll play nice with Violent Crimes.

"Agent Scully, you will continue in your role as an investigator and forensic pathologist. Autopsies are your specialty and they will remain so. However, you will be required to assist Agent Mulder efficiently, appropriately and when necessary. And you, Agent Mulder..."

He turned toward Mulder and raised his voice menacingly, "...will not take advantage of Agent Scully's position. Are we all clear on this?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, then get the specifications on your office that I asked for over to me ASAP. I'll expect you both to make due until they're implemented. Get down to your office and start putting things in order. I'll send down the files that have already been transcribed to audio, and you'll need to make room for the rest."

Skinner stood to end the meeting and said, "So, if there aren't any questions..."

Mulder heard him stand, and got to his feet. "No, Sir. No questions."

"Then get started." He turned his back to us. Of course Mulder couldn't see Skinner turn his back, so I took Mulder's hand and led him to the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Skinner turn to watch us leave. He saw Mulder fumble with his cane, as he reached for my hand. Skinner took off his glasses, placed his hand over his eyes, and took a deep breath, not knowing that I saw him.

As I walked out of his office, it occurred to me that Skinner never asked us if we wanted our jobs back. Mulder, especially, could retire on disability and easily live off the money his parents left him. Skinner knew this, but he still didn't ask us. Instead, he ordered us back to the basement, and back to work.

I will never be able to thank him enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Mulder's eyes used to speak to me, and now I missed their words. They were still a smoky hazel/gray, but dull and lifeless behind the lashes. When he didn't think I was looking, Mulder would practice making faces. Grinning with boyish charm, or raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment, he'd put his hands on his face to feel what he looked like. I'd seen him practicing anger, honesty, and happiness, because these expressions didn't seem to come naturally anymore. I missed the emotions that played in his eyes. The fire was out, and all that was left was a cold, dead stare.

That was why I asked him wear his sunglasses that evening. I let him think it was because his eyes were rolling to the back of his head, but it was really so I wouldn't have to look at them. He was still animated when he spoke, and smiled readily, so with his glasses on, I could pretend that his eyes were smiling, too.

We were in the midst of another new case, and Mulder was obnoxiously happy, which was why I reacted the way I did. I tried to go along with his moods, and tended to defer to his bright ones over my somber ones. I wanted Mulder to be happy.

Even though it took a lot of falling down, getting up and dusting off, he learned how to live in the dark. His apartment was in better shape than it ever had been, because he had to keep things neat in order to find anything. His clothes matched, and the pesky red/green color blindness never again encroached upon his shirts and ties.

I can't believe how I resented him adjusting so well.

He put on a brave and bold front for the world to see. That, and his uncanny ability to put clues together, gave the other agents a different reason to talk about him. He garnered admiration and respect, even from those who used to call him "Spooky." I rode on the coattails of this new respect, and I resented that, too.

He was handsome, smart, and making a new name for himself. A good name, which inspired even the most jaded agent. Behind the blindness, Mulder's wit and quick comebacks remained sharp. Bureau members came to the basement regularly, to consult with him. All the while, he continued to study blind technology, and master the day-to-day activities of daily living. My services were needed as an adjunct to the talented Agent Mulder. We were partners, but I felt more like his seeing-eye dog.

We had just gotten back from spending the day with Dr. Sal Rossi, a dental expert from the Garrett County Health Department. This county in Maryland had a string of grisly murders, where the victim's bodies were so badly mutilated that they needed to be identified through their dental records. We knew that one perpetrator was responsible for all the murders, and he dumped the bodies all around this large county. Even though the bodies were scattered, Dr. Rossi was able to give an accurate location of where the murders were committed by examining the fillings in the teeth. The chemicals in the water were in different concentrations in this rural county, and these chemicals affected the density of the fillings.

We were well on our way to solving this case, too, as Mulder had steered the doctor into looking at the fillings. Dr. Salve Regina Rossi was brilliant and articulate. She was also tall, with olive skin, dark almond-shaped eyes, and a single, black, braid that fell past her waist. Mulder commented that she smelled good.

"Mulder, here put these on."

"It's just us down here, Scully. Why do you want me to wear them?"

"Doctor's orders. Please, put them on."

"Oh..." He reached for the sunglasses and asked, "Are my eyes doing that rolling thing again? I'm sorry. I really can't tell when that's happening."

I didn't answer, because I was filing busily in the corner of our office. Out of some perverse sense of purpose, or loyalty, or something equally warped, I didn't turn the lights on until it got late, and only because filing was problematic in the dark.

"Hey, Scully, is something wrong?" he put the glasses back down on the desk.

"How much longer do you think you'll want to stay, Mulder? It's getting dark, it's getting cold, and I want to go home."

"I know it's late. Why don't you go on home? I'll call a cab when I'm done."

I slammed the file drawer.

"Scully, what the hell is wrong?" he said out into the air in front of him. "Go home if you want to, I'll be fine."

"Fine!" I growled, grabbing my coat.

I stormed over to the door, but because it was dim, I didn't see the corner of his desk until I smashed my knee into it. The impact spun me around, and I went down so hard that my teeth clamped into my tongue.

"Scully!!"

"Shit, oh shit..." which sounded like, 'Thit, oh thit.'

"Scully, what happened? Are you all right?" Mulder stumbled towards me.

"Mulder, just-just turn on the lights for me will you."

He stopped and moved over to the wall, "Why the hell are you down here with the lights off? It's gotta be dark down here this close to 9:00 PM." His voice trembled slightly as the lights came on.

My nylons were torn, and my left knee was bruising from the impact first with the desk, then with the floor. There was a lot more blood on my shirt than I expected. The tears running down my cheeks were a real mystery. I wasn't sure if they were there from before or after the fall.

"Scully, are you okay? Let me help you."

"No! I mean, no, it's okay, just give me a second to catch my breath." Damn, my tongue hurt, and my knee was beginning to swell in earnest.

"Scully, what happened? " His voice was intense and shaky. I looked up and saw an expression on his face, which wasn't artificial. His eyes sparked with concern and caring. I stared at his eyes while he did his best to seek me out. There was fire in them.

"Over here, Mulder. Help me up, please." He reached down and I took his hand. He gently pulled me up then helped me sit on the edge of his desk.

"Let me see." There were tremors in Mulder's hands as he brushed them through my hair and scalp, then across my lips and chin.

"You're going to need some ice for that lip."

He was right, my tongue was bitten, but my lip must have made contact with some hard object on the way down. I took Mulder's hand to show him my knee.

"Oh, Scully. That's gotta hurt. I'll get some ice." He went to the little freezer where I kept specimens for study, and cracked open an ice tray.

"Your pantyhose are torn anyway, Scully, so why don't you take them off and hand them to me?"

"What? Why...?"

"For the ice, Scully. I'm talking about the ice."

I handed him my hose, which he promptly ripped in two. He washed and rinsed them, then filled one foot with ice for my knee and the other foot with ice for my mouth.

"Indian Guide knows how to make cold compresses from ladies intimate apparel." He smiled and handed me my ice filled stocking. "I could really get the swelling down if you wore a 'D' cup, Scully."

I pressed one ice sock to my lips and tongue, while he took the other and massaged my knee with it. We iced in silence.

"Think you'll be able to walk on it?"

"Yeah, probably, it's just bruised."

"Do you want to try?"

I scooted to the edge of the desk. Mulder stood in front of me, and put his hands around my waist for support. I stood up and wobbled. He held me tighter, and I put my hands on his shoulders so I could put more weight on the knee. After testing it for a few tries, I decided that the knee would hold. But we stood like that for several minutes; his hands around my waist, holding me close, my hands gripping his shoulders.

I looked up and saw his sightless eyes come alive. The hazel brightened to green, and glittered with intensity.

"Why do you keep the lights off?"

"I-I'm not sure." It wasn't a lie, since I really hadn't figured it out.

"Then I'll have to make sure they're on for you."

His head dipped closer, and he said softly, "How's your lip?"

"It's cold," I whispered.

He nuzzled my ear, and then looked directly in my eyes.

"Mulder..." I gasped. "Oh my God..."

He smiled gently, "What?"

"It's-it's like you can see me."

"Of course I see you, Scully. You're standing in front of my desk, in my arms. Your bloody lip ruined your shirt, your legs are bare, and your left knee is bruised purple. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are wet as they look into mine. And you are so very beautiful. Yes, I see you, Scully. You're the only thing I can see."

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind the lids. I started to say, "Oh, Mulder..." but as my mouth formed the "Oh," his warm lips met mine, and the cold and pain and fear disappeared.

All the fear of losing Mulder to his blindness, and all the fear of losing myself to it, dissipated when he touched me. As his lips drew deeper on mine, it dawned on me: while I'd become a lost and fearful stranger, Mulder had remained firmly and unquestionably Mulder. He wasn't a blind facsimile of my sighted partner; he was Mulder.

He pushed my lips apart and moved his tongue against mine. We had never truly kissed before, but his kiss was familiar. I recognized the taste and feel of him, and it was amazing. That night, we kissed for the first time, and for the thousandth time.

"Your tongue is still bleeding." Mulder's breath was hot in my ear. He guided me onto the desk, and licked his lips. "Did I hurt you?"

"No..."

"And I never will."

I reached up and held his face in my hands. Mulder closed his beautiful eyes, leaned down, and began kissing me. He cupped my left breast, and through my blouse, stroked the nipple with the pad of his thumb.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself in his arms, hair in disarray, legs bare and bruised, and my face a stained and teary mess.

"Mulder-wait."

He pulled back so fast, that a sucking sound filled the air.

"Oh God, Scully!" he shook his head in disbelief. "I-I'm so sorry..."

I had hopped off the desk and rushed over to the wall. After turning the lights off again, I carefully made my way back to his desk.

"Don't be sorry. I'm not." My fingers stroked his chest, and I heard him exhale.

"Are you sure?" He smoothed the hair away from my face, and said softly, "Because I _am_ sure. I've never been so certain of anything in my life."

I moved further onto the desk, and kissed him deeply. His mouth descended on me as I lay back. Breathless, I asked, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I love you."

His body covered me. I honestly don't remember taking off my clothes, but, suddenly there were no impediments between us, and we were skin to skin. His fingers, mouth and tongue loved me all at once. Softly, his voice came from the dark, "Because I've searched for the truth, and finally found it." He was above me, and a teardrop fell on my cheek. "Scully, you are my truth."

I rose up to meet his hips, and after a breath said softly, "And you are mine."

After that night, I was no longer a lost and fearful stranger. Mulder found me, guided me, and cherished me. In his embrace, I was safe; in his eyes, I was beautiful.

In his arms, I was home.

* * *

There was no awkwardness, no embarrassment, and no regrets. Our partnership gained momentum in all respects. Touches became more meaningful; sighs and inflections told as much as a glance or a raised eyebrow had. We were better able to read each other, which made our collaboration even smoother and more successful.

Late nights turned into early mornings, and weekdays melded with weekends until we now moved in one, fluid motion. Mulder's apartment went unused. His fish died; the phone and electric company decided that he must have joined his fish, and the apartment was rendered dark, dusty, and silent. I sold my car and drove his, bought extra toothbrushes and towels, made room in the closet, bought sugary cereals, and never looked back.

Cases piled up and were quickly solved, but sometimes there were tremendous emotional consequences. Occasionally, Mulder would have terrifying flashbacks to the explosion, and rarely, when there was extreme stress, blackouts and memory loss.

* * *

The first time it happened, I didn't believe him. "Shit, Scully. Shit! Where are you?"

"What, Mulder?" I said sitting up, "What's wrong?" His wide eyes were blazing. He was soaked in sweat, and looked fevered. When I laid my hand on his forehead, he flinched and slapped it away.

"Scully, what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, you might be running a temp. Do you feel sick?" I tried to feel his head again, and he grabbed at my wrist.

"Yes, I feel sick! And you're not helping! Shit, Scully, will you turn on a goddam light or something??" His breathing was out of control, and he was beginning to gag.

I did what he asked and switched on my bedside lamp. He'd never asked me to turn on the light, and a feeling of dread crept into me. I controlled my voice, and placed my hand firmly on Mulder's chest as I spoke "Okay, try and calm down. Where does it hurt? Your head? Your stomach?"

"You were thrown to the ground, Scully, and I couldn't get to you. There was so much blood-you-you were drowning in it. Christ, Scully where are you?"

"Breathe, Mulder. I'm right here. You must have had a flashback. Breathe with me."

"Flashback? Oh, God, that's right! There was a flash. Light so bright it hurt. I didn't know light could hurt..." Tears came to his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. His breaths came in gulping sobs. "But here we are, we're okay. We're okay..."

"Yes, we're here, and we're okay. Just try and calm down." I took his hand and held on tight. Something wasn't right; this wasn't just a nightmare. Stroking his hair, I kissed his eyes, cheeks, and lips, murmuring, "I'm here, don't worry. I'm here..."

After several minutes he said, "Scully?"

"Yes?"

"You're kissing me."

"Yes, I am," I placed his hand on my lips, and kissed his palm.

"Aren't you afraid the nurses will catch you?"

Fear is cold, and I began to shake with it.

"Mulder?" My hand trembled as I felt his head again. His brow was cool and his breathing was slowing down.

"I think this is the best I've ever felt, waking up. Nothing hurts, and I find out that you kiss me when I'm unconscious. So I guess it's only fair that _I_ confess-I like it." He smiled, enjoying my hand stroking his head.

"Mulder, where do you think we are?"

"We're in the hospital. You've been sitting next to my bed waiting for me to wake up." He turned his head and stared up at me. "Kiss me again, Scully."

"No, Mulder."

"Aww Scully, I won't tell."

"I mean, no, we're not in the hospital."

"What? Of course we are...the explosion..."

"We're home. You're in your own bed. We're not in the hospital."

"Turn on the lights."

"Mulder, the lights are on. The flash blinded you. You're home with me..."

"I am not home with you! We do not have a home together. Now, tell me it's dark in here. Tell me we're in the hospital and it's dark..." Mulder's face crumpled.

He wasn't hearing me, and I couldn't blame him. Who would want to hear the words, 'The flash blinded you.'? But I was afraid; I didn't know what was happening to him. How could Mulder work late into the evening, fall asleep next to me, and wake up with no memory of the events that blinded him? I've never encountered any research that described a condition like this. So how could I have been prepared to take him back through the darkest time of his life? What if he never came out of it? Had the horror of his life so overwhelmed him that he rejected the life we made together? How could I get him back? I did the only thing I knew to do.

"Mulder, you've told me that I'm the only one you trust." After a moment, he raised his tear-streaked face to me. I rested my hand on his chest. "You have to believe me now."

"I want to trust. I-I don't want to believe." Mulder's heart was pounding under my palm.

"Then trust me now, to help you through the darkness." I kissed his chest. "And I will believe for you."

* * *

The blackouts and memory loss always turned out to be temporary, and everything returned to normal after the stresses of that particular case were over. I learned my lines, so that I wouldn't be rattled every time I had to repeat the scene.

He always came back stronger, and more determined. His strength was contagious, because I finally found the courage to complete my own healing.

After the accident, I hadn't gone for more surgery. I said that compared to Mulder's loss, mine was insignificant. I could still see. Maybe I actually did feel that way; maybe I had a deeper fear. Maybe I was afraid that the surgeries wouldn't work. If I didn't try, the surgeries couldn't fail, and I could remain the captain of my fate.

But I had lost control of the helm as soon as I walked into the basement office. From that moment, it took the two of us to steer one course, and make one life.

Mulder once told me that in order for us to go forward together, I would have to go back. Go back to being beautiful, and back to being a fighter.

"I'll always be here. I want you here with me. Whole or at least fighting. That's who you are, Scully. You have yourself to lose, if you don't try. I want you to have the reconstructive surgeries. Fight for it, Scully. I'll fight with you."

Then he made me another offer. "I want to take that sadness away, Scully. The sadness, and the guilt. I want to wrap my arms around you and love you until it all disappears. I don't know if I can, but, God, I want to try."

He took my hands and kissed both palms lightly.

"Give me a lifetime to try. And if I can't do it in this lifetime, give me the next. Marry me, Scully. Forever. I know I may not be the best choice for a husband..."

"Mulder..."

"...but your clothes would never have to match, and you'd always get to drive, and I swear I'd never, ever look at another woman..."

"Mulder."

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And I love you so much, Scully. You _have_ to know how much. Life without you would be unthinkable, unbearable."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Then say, 'yes.'" His hands cupped my cheeks and he kissed my eyes.

"Mulder, your impulsive streak is going to get you in trouble..."

He kissed the back of my neck. "Say, 'yes.'" He kissed the line of my jaw. "Say, 'yes.'" .

He stopped and raised his head so that he knew his face was squarely in front of mine. My breath passed to him, and he passed it back. This is how it had always been, one shared breath, one shared life.

I paused a moment longer, then said, "Yes..."

He blew out a breath then said, "There, was that so hard?"

"No. No-it wasn't."

Life had been unfair to him enough, and it certainly wasn't fair that he was more beautiful than his intended bride, so I had the reconstruction done. It took three operations in all. Unfortunately, we hadn't underestimated the time and toll the surgeries would take on the both of us. They _were_ painful, and the recoup time was longer than I expected. Mulder had to take on most of the responsibilities of work and home, which he did with enthusiasm, patience, and love.

However, when today we stood and said, "I do," before God and family, he was beautiful, and so was I.

* * *

Usually I have the lights out and the curtains tightly drawn against any streetlight that might filter in. But tonight, I'm indulging myself. The lights in the bedroom are blazing, and I'm looking down at my sleeping husband. The lights won't wake him, and while that should evoke a pang of sadness, I smile and appreciate how the light plays over him. This is the way it is, now. This is how the first night of the rest of my life feels.

Our wedding was attended by hundreds of well-wishers from the Bureau. My mother was my matron of honor, and she proudly walked down the aisle on the arm of Mulder's best man, Walter Skinner. Mulder and I walked up to the alter hand-in-hand. In his vows to me he said, "In sickness and in health," then added, "In this lifetime, and the next," much to the priest's surprise. I was holding onto my dignity pretty well at that point; until I looked over saw Melvin Frohike crying unabashedly. That did me in, and I joined him. "Yours Forever "

I had those words engraved deeply on the _outside_ of Mulder's wide wedding band. His sensitive fingertips felt the letters for the first time, and I knew he would feel them until time rubbed them away. When he fingered the letters today, he was overwhelmed. He took a breath, lowered his head, and beneath the tinted lenses, tears ran down his cheeks.

After Mulder kissed the bride, he said just loud enough to be heard, "Thank you for loving me." That's when the rest of the congregation joined us in that soggy puddle. It was a beautiful ceremony.

As I was the undisputed designated driver, Mulder allowed himself some overindulgences on all things alcoholic. Which is why I can sit here now, and watch him sleep so soundly. He grins a lopsided grin in his sleep, and sighs happily. The sheets cling to his salty skin, and he looks all the world like a man content.

I get up and look at myself in the mirror. 'I know you. You're Dana Scully.' My face is flushed and the skin is smooth to the touch. My eyes shine, and I can't help it as my lips curve into a perfect smile.

"No, you're Dana Mulder." I whisper at the reflected image.

Going back to look at what I've written, I take my time to finish reading, then nod. It's all here, and it's all over. I'm ending the sad chapter of our lives and beginning a new bright one.

We can only guess what the future holds, so we hang on bravely and play the cards we're dealt. I hope we're in the game for a long time, since I have a strong feeling that the cards are finally stacked in our favor.

Now, I'm going to wake Mulder, and see what hand he deals next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard other authors say that they needed to write a specific story because the characters spoke out to them. I didn't really believe that until Scully made it clear that she wanted her point of view known. This story ends the "Flash" series. Hope you liked 'em.


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